


Where the lost can be found

by authoressjean



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Prompt Response, mentions of minor character death in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo works the soup kitchen in town alongside Bofur. There's always the regulars - Bard who's fighting to find a job, Tauriel the runaway, Saruman who's always sour.</p><p>Then they get a newcomer. And even with the hint of a troubled, mysterious past, Bilbo's determined to get beneath the shaggy hair and to the soul hidden in those bright blue eyes.</p><p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the lost can be found

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt response time! Writer666 asked for a modern!AU where Bilbo and Thorin meet in a soup kitchen. I got to pick the specifics, and this came out.
> 
> Of course there's angst. Why you even bother to ask anymore, I don't know. It's ME. C'mon now. But there is also a happy ending.

“Hey Bil, check out our newcomer.”

Bilbo pulled his head up from the soup he was stirring. He peered past the usual faces – Beorn with his random fur he’d gotten who knew where and refused to part with, Saruman with his black walking stick and his general scowl – and found the newcomer readily enough. He had longer hair that looked like it needed a good washing, clothes that looked military in style, and big boots, also military in style. He kept his shoulders hunched up to his ears, so it was hard to say how tall he was. He moved as if he was lost, little stuttering steps here and there, and it looked as if he also had a lengthy, scraggly beard going.

He wound up finding his way into the line, and Bilbo reached back on a whim and caught an extra dinner roll when he saw the man’s hands. He looked thin, as if he hadn’t seen a real meal in far too long.

When the man reached him, Bilbo took his time ladling the soup into the bowl until the man finally looked up. His face was gaunt, as Bilbo had expected, but his eyes. Oh heavens his _eyes_. He was a natural beauty, and Bilbo’s breath caught a little. _Not the time,_ he thought sternly to himself. _Just because it’s November now and Thanksgiving's a few weeks away and you’ve not got anyone of any sort doesn’t mean you can project it onto this poor fellow._ He needed kindness, not someone hitting on him.

“Here,” Bilbo said, handing the bowl over. The man took it gratefully, and Bilbo placed the two rolls on his tray as well. The man blinked. “Come up if you need seconds, all right?”

“Thank you, sir,” the man said after a moment, and his voice was deep and beautiful, too. Bilbo had always had a thing for voices, and this one was enough to make anyone swoon.

“It’s Bilbo,” Bilbo said. Just like a friend, which was their motto. _They only need a friend to help them. Be their friend._ “It’s just Bilbo, none of that ‘sir’ nonsense. It sounds far too stern for someone like me.” Him with his little apron and his hair curling everywhere and his round nose and ears that looked a little pinched at the top. His mother had called him her little elf. His roommates in college had simply tried to hang Christmas ornaments from the tips.

There was no one else in line behind the man, so Bilbo began speaking again. “There’s space over by Beorn – he’s the one with the pelts, but though he’s massively sized, he’s actually very gentle. Our own Gentle Giant. Saruman’s…testy. He’s the one with the black walking stick. Until he gets to know you, I’d steer clear. He has good days and bad days. He’s been in a few wars.” No one else could feel anything close to sympathetic for him except for Bilbo. His long-gone uncle had been in the war, too. He understood.

With each word he said, the man began to relax. Emboldened, Bilbo continued laying out the room of the regulars – Bard who asked for extra bread to take back to his family, the reedy and young Tauriel whom Bilbo was certain had run away from home, Denethor who was typically bitter but who would go on and on about his sons with such pride and never spoke of his wife unless he came in drunk.

“You know them well,” the man said. He sounded surprised. “Do they all tell you their past?”

“Sometimes, if they want to talk,” Bilbo said. “They just want someone to listen. I’ve a good ear. But I can assure you that no one working here will ever push. We just want to help with the cooking.” It was better than sitting at home in his apartment with only the memories of family and friends echoing in the empty space about him. Those here in the soup kitchen kept telling him to get a pet, but Bilbo would rather spend his time here, and he’d neglect the poor thing, and then where would he be?

“Do you have a name you go by?” Bilbo asked. “That’s the one area that I’ll pry at. Sometimes we need help breaking up a dispute or sometimes we just have extra soup. It’s easier if we have a name.”

The man paused. “Thor,” he finally said. “You can call me Thor.”

“Like the Norse god, or like the Marvel comics?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. “Because you’ve not a lick of blonde anywhere about you.”

The man’s lips turned up faintly. “Like the Norse god, then. Though I believe he was blonde too. Of course, when he pretended to be a bride, I’m not certain if they said what color his wig was.”

A learned man, at least in terms of mythology. Bilbo filed that piece of information away. “Thor it is, then. Let me know if you do want seconds; Tuesdays are typically slow days for us. Now, come in on a Thursday and it’ll be more packed.”

“What time on Thursdays?” Thor asked.

“You’d be best to make it an early lunch: try around 10:45 in the morning. We’ll have the soup and the sandwiches out, fresh and piping hot. This Thursday is meatball sub day.”

Thor made a noncommittal sound, but he did take his tray and wandered off, and Bilbo noted with satisfaction that he sat at Beorn’s table. Beorn slowly began speaking to him, and when Bilbo looked up about twenty minutes later, they were eating in peace, random conversation flowing between them.

Bilbo smiled and went back to ladling soup.

 

Thor was back on Thursday at 10:45 sharp. His clothes were a little dirtier than before, though it seemed as if he’d tried to comb his hair.

Bilbo gave him a bright smile when he made up the sandwich. “I’m a bit envious, I have to admit. You don’t seem to have any problem growing out your hair.”

Thor frowned at him. “Why would you want to grow out your hair?”

“At least for a beard: I’m completely incapable of it. I wanted to, as a teen, to rebel against my parents. Turns out, we Baggins are unable to grow beards. All I got was this angry looking tuft that looked ridiculous. I’ve sort of given up on it ever since. I haven’t had my hair cut in nearly a year. It just…won’t grow.” He shook his hair to emphasize how short and wild it was.

Thor snorted, and Bilbo could’ve sworn he looked amused. “In my family, growing hair is easy enough. It’s maintaining it that’s hard to do.”

“I could help,” Bilbo said, and then froze. “Um. There’s a, um, a sink. In the back. We use it sometimes to offer shaves or haircuts. I could. Um. If you wanted. That is, if you wanted. You absolutely don’t have to, of course-“

“Perhaps,” Thor said, and Bilbo let out a gust of air. That was definitely amusement in his eyes now. Thankfully amusement, which let Bilbo off the hook a little. “Perhaps, one day. When I…when I deserve it.” The amusement was gone, and his eyes were haunted.

Bilbo didn’t pursue it. Instead he slipped an extra dessert onto Thor’s tray and gave him a grin when the man looked up with raised eyebrow. “It’s Thorsday, you know,” he said. “You should celebrate your day.”

Thor huffed a laugh and went to Beorn’s table. Beorn himself wasn’t there, but he would be, in a bit. Bilbo watched as he took careful bites of the sandwich, as if it was the only meal he’d get that day. Bilbo _hated_ watching people do that. It made him want to cry.

The desserts he saved for a bit, and when Bilbo was able to glance over at him, after the line had died down for awhile, Thor was still there, sliding his fingers over something in his hand. Then the line surged forward again, and when he had another chance to look, Thor was gone.

 

Thor became a regular at various meals, but after he’d come to one supper meal and not found Bilbo there, Bofur told him that the man had quickly eaten and left. “He was highly disgruntled about your not bein’ there.” Bofur gave him a wink. “Think you’ve got an admirer.”

He didn’t have one in the slightest, and Bilbo couldn’t allow himself to think like that. Not when he adored every moment with Thor and the brightness that came to his eyes when Bilbo coaxed a smile to his lips. “All the more reason I should be here all day,” Bilbo said.

Bofur crossed his arms. “You shouldn’t do that, laddie. You need to not be here sometimes, you need to take a break.”

And do what: stare at the walls? He didn’t even have a television hooked up to cable, it would be his videos, and all he had was a copy of _The Hobbit_ , the old cartoon version from the 70’s that his mother had owned, some documentary about New Zealand his cousin had mailed him one year, and all the home videos. And those he wasn’t touching with a ten foot pole.

Bofur seemed to read some of it in his eyes, and he sighed. “Look, we’re all goin’ out to eat tonight. You should come. It’s nothin’ fancy, just up to the local pizzeria. Let Bombur take over the kitchens and Lobelia run things for a bit. She’s good, you know that.”

The personality of a barracuda, but damn if she couldn’t manage things. “So long as she doesn’t run the lines,” Bilbo warned, and Bofur snorted.

“Not a chance. She’ll be in the back harassin’ Bombur. Good thing my cousin’s good natured about things like that.”

Bilbo bit his lip. “Come on,” Bofur said. “You’ve nothin’ else to do.”

No, he didn’t, but he was still so socially awkward, even with people he knew and saw every day. And they’d all have their respective others and what would Bilbo have? Nothing. Just as he always did.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally allowed, and Bofur grinned like he’d handed him the keys to the city.

“Good. All I can ask for.” He paused, then nudged Bilbo forward. “You’ve someone on the line,” he said, and it sounded like he was leering. Bilbo turned and found Thor standing there, tray in hand. Bilbo grinned and headed to the line.

Thor gave him a smile, and Bilbo all but bounced where he stood. “Missed you yesterday,” he couldn’t help but say. “We had a lovely stew on. I saved you some in the fridge.” It had been his portion, but he hadn’t gotten to it, and it was still in the fridge. And he _had_ missed seeing Thor.

Thor’s smile wasn’t as bright, but it was still genuinely there. “I had things to attend to,” he said quietly. He rolled his jaw and then winced. Concerned, Bilbo leaned over the soup and found a massive bruise on the side of his face. Without thinking he reached up and cupped the side of Thor’s face gently. It was nearly the size of his palm, and Bilbo knew he had small hands, but for god’s sake they weren’t _that_ small. Thor stayed still, tension flowing out of him steadily with each passing moment.

“What happened?” Bilbo asked softly. The sight of the bruise made him want to go punch the person responsible.

“I started it,” Thor said, only looking slightly guilty. “I sort of had it coming.”

He’d had a few regulars come in like this, once. Starting fights, looking to be hurt and to hurt in return. Who knew how many bruises Thor had on his body, hidden beneath his old military jacket. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked.

“A few cuts and bruises,” Thor confirmed. “I’m fine. I feel better, actually.”

Bilbo didn’t believe him for a minute. Thor still looked haunted, that same look he’d had on his first day in the kitchen. “It’s fine,” Thor said, sounding almost defensive, and Bilbo shook his head.

“It’s not. I don’t care why or how it was started, I just…I just don’t like seeing you hurt. That’s all.” It made his stomach churn and for some reason, the bruise was all he could focus on. And then all he could suddenly smell wasn’t the chili around him but the antiseptic of the hospital room, the cloying smell of bleach, hear the wailing sound of the heart monitor flat-lining.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo swallowed hard and shook himself. “If you need bandages, we have some,” he croaked. Thor was gazing at him now in what looked like worry, and Bilbo suddenly needed to be anywhere but where he was. “I’ll get some for you,” he managed to get out, and then he turned and headed for the back, somewhere into the kitchen. He stumbled past a startled Bofur and Bombur and pushed past the newest member of the team who called his name in concern but was thankfully held back by Bofur. Bofur understood. He’d been there, after all, in the aftermath.

He shoved open the door of the alley and managed to not land on his knees. His head was spinning the alleyway around and around, and he caught himself, hands on his knees, and braced against the memories.

He _hated_ when he did this. He _hated_ when the sudden reminder of those terrible two months came up and bit him in the ass. Deep breaths helped settle the world where it was, and he didn’t fall over. Progress. The last time it had hit him, he’d landed in a puddle from a rain storm the night before. At least there were no puddles here.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s head whipped up. Thor stood in the alley, looking nine types of concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked, and then he was there, hovering right beside Bilbo.

“I…no,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “Not really, no. But I will be. Bofur could get the bandages for you if you needed them-“

“I did not come out here for bandages,” Thor said, waving Bilbo’s words off. “I came out here for you.”

Oh. Bilbo swallowed, wishing the words didn’t mean as much as they did. “Thank you,” he murmured. “It just hits sometimes, you know? Memories. When they shouldn’t.”

Thor nodded and didn’t move. _Be their friend_ , right? Well, friends shared, and Bilbo had never shared, had just always listened. Maybe he could share. Just this once.

“When I was in college, almost graduated, my father’s cancer returned in a vicious manner. He was in ICU for forty-three days before he died because one of the doctors missed a chunk of the cancer. He got a blood infection and there was nothing they could do and…I lived in that hospital. Except for when my mother sent me back to actually study for finals. I sent them in early. My professors understood.” As if that was the important part.

But Thor nodded as if he understood, and Bilbo took a shuddering breath and continued. “My father died on a Friday. My mother went to drive home, and I should’ve, I should’ve stopped her. She was lost in her grief but still fairly steady and I didn’t think I was any better and someone should’ve driven her home. It was raining and she…”

The vehicle had spun out on a road two blocks from home, hit a pole hard and twisted into a ditch. When Bilbo had gone to collect things from it later, it had been like an accordion. He’d been amazed that they’d even gotten her out.

“I hadn’t even left the hospital yet,” he whispered. “And then she was being brought into the ER, bloody and so still and the heart monitor just kept wailing and then she was gone. And I was alone.”

There was no one left. It had just been him standing in the hallway of the ER, the smell of the hospital forever ingrained in his head, the sound of the heart monitor burned into his brain.

Beside him, Thor had gone so still that Bilbo wondered if he was even breathing. Guilt churned inside of him that perhaps he’d overstepped the line. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Thor, I’m very sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

Then Thor was sweeping him up into his arms, and it was more than Bilbo had ever let himself daydream about. His hold was strong and secure, a haven for Bilbo, and he fit perfectly under Thor’s chin. “You owe me no apologies,” Thor said, and his voice sounded ragged. “None. I am so sorry for your loss.”

There was remembered pain, there. Thor understood. In that one instant, Bilbo knew that Thor understood his tragedy and his pain, that he’d lost someone in a terrible manner, too. He clutched back at Thor, fingers digging tight into his jacket.

After long moments, Thor finally released him, and Bilbo missed him the second he did. “I wish I could say something to help,” Thor said quietly. “But I know there is little I can offer you in terms of words.”

“It’s all right,” Bilbo assured him. “Truly. It was several years ago. It just hits me, sometimes. Random little things that sometimes don’t make a lick of sense, and I’ll be fighting back tears or trying to breathe.” It was ridiculous sometimes, it really was.

“I still wish I could help,” Thor said, and he looked so lost and helpless that Bilbo couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve done more than anyone else ever has. Beside Bofur, I don’t think anyone’s ever really listened.”

“But you have kin who were there, surely.”

Bilbo’s smile fell away. “Not. Um. Not really. I mean, there were distant relatives that came from both sides of the family to their joint funeral. But neither of them wanted my parents to marry, completely opposite sides of the spectrum. And I sort of got torn in the middle. I don’t really have anyone except for a distant cousin named Drogo that I keep in touch with. Bofur was my roommate’s cousin. He mentioned that he worked in the soup kitchen, that I could use something to do. So…I’m here.” And had been, ever since.

“So you have no kin,” Thor said.

“No. There are days…well. Wishing doesn’t get anyone anywhere. But if I had a chance to be closer to some of them, then I would. It’s easier to bear grief when it’s shared.”

He bit his lip when Thor only stood there, staring in growing dismay. “Bofur keeps telling me to get a cat. I’m not certain how that’s supposed to help: I’ll just have another creature to dismiss me. At least with a cat I’ll _expect_ it,” he joked. He’d had a kitten, as a child, before he’d found out that his mother was allergic.

Thor still stared at him as if Bilbo was the one in need of the soup kitchen and not Thor. “I’ll be all right,” Bilbo said softly. “Truly.” He needed to get back inside. He couldn’t just up and leave in the middle of the lunch. “Did you actually get any lunch, or did you just take off after me?”

Thor didn’t say anything, which was answer in and of itself. “Come on; it’s really good chili,” Bilbo said, rolling his shoulders back. “Bombur’s got a secret ingredient. Did you know he got offered a place at _Esgaroth_?”

“It’s the most expensive restaurant in town,” Thor said, frowning. “Why does he not work there?”

“Because they wouldn’t let him work here, too,” Bilbo said. “He likes being here more. So do I. It’s…it’s a good place. You get out of the lonely little apartment and help people. I like being able to help. We all do. Well, okay, most of us. Lobelia just likes to boss people around.”

“Is that the woman with the frazzled hair?” Thor asked.

“That would be her, yes. She pulls at it when she’s stressed, which is most of the time.” He let out a little breath that only shuddered slightly. “So, back inside with us both. You need lunch.”

“I need my hair cut,” Thor said abruptly. Bilbo stared. “Tonight. Will you cut it?”

He’d promised Bofur the pizzeria. The kitchen would be busier than usual tonight. “You’d have to come to my place,” Bilbo told him. “It’s a little apartment, not far. If you wanted to, you could meet me right out here at 5:30 tonight and I could show you where it is.”

Thor nodded. “I would like that, very much.”

So would Bilbo. He gave Thor a wide smile that only made his eyes burn a little. “Me too. Now come on, you need lunch first.”

And Bilbo would be able to feed him dinner, too, hopefully.

 

As it turned out, Thor liked fish and chips just fine, since that was what Bilbo had in his freezer that worked well for two. He insisted on helping cook, and he was very good at it. More pieces to the puzzle that was Thor. After dinner, Bilbo sent him to the shower and told him to take as long as he wanted. In the meanwhile, Bilbo set about cleaning up and very much not thinking about the man currently in his shower, sopping wet, hair gleaming down his skin…

“Oh for god’s sake,” Bilbo muttered, glaring at nothing at all. “You are being _ridiculous_. Leave the poor man alone.”

“Leave who alone?”

Bilbo turned and froze. Thor stood in the door sans shirt, his pants hanging low on his waist. His skin was a little soft, but the definition of muscles was still there and obvious to see. His hair, now washed, was lush and dark and hung about him in a way that made Bilbo want to dig his fingers into it.

“Just someone,” Bilbo managed when he got his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. “Come. Sit down. Sitting down, come sit down.”

Thor raised an amused eyebrow and settled into the chair. Bilbo grabbed the towel from his hands and tucked it around his shoulders. “For someone who doesn’t get his hair cut, I’m not certain I should trust you,” Thor said, but when Bilbo glanced at him, he was grinning.

Bilbo gave a fake little huff of aggravation, but he couldn’t hold back his own grin for long. “I’ll have you know I cut all the hair there, including Bofur’s.”

“Is that why he wears a hat all the time?”

“Behave, you, or I’ll trim a daisy into the side of your head.”

“No need to threaten,” Thor said, pretending to shudder, and Bilbo chuckled and set to work. The beard he trimmed up first, hesitant at first until Thor told him how high to go. His hair he only trimmed, leaving the ends neater and even. His hair was as lush as Bilbo had thought, and he no longer looked scraggly or messy, but a clean-shaven, illustrious man. He looked handsome.

He sent Thor off to the bathroom mirror when he was done, and he focused on breathing. “Well?” he called when Thor didn’t return. “Did I do all right?”

No answer. Frowning, Bilbo headed into the bathroom and found Thor staring at the mirror, tears in his eyes. “Oh god, did I cut too much?” Bilbo asked, terrified. “Thor, I’m-“

Thor swept him up into another hug, much like he had earlier that day. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You have given me something back. Thank you.”

Oh. That was much better than what Bilbo had thought he’d done. Slowly he wrapped his arms around Thor, feeling bare skin beneath his hands that he was very careful to not place any lower than the man’s waist.

Time ticked on. Thor didn’t move, and neither did Bilbo, and slowly Bilbo began to relax into the embrace. Thor was warm, warm and clean and his drying hair was brushing ever so softly against Bilbo’s cheek. He wanted to stay like this forever. He wanted Thor to never let go.

“You can stay,” he whispered and hated himself immediately for doing it. But Thor didn’t move or tighten up. He stayed exactly where he was, and Bilbo could’ve imagined it, but he thought that Thor only held on all the more. “You can stay, here, with me. I wouldn’t mind. Ever.”

“You have no idea what I’ve done,” Thor said. “You have no clue and yet you still…” He swallowed hard and rested his chin on top of Bilbo’s head. “Because of me, someone I love is dead.”

Bilbo didn’t move. Thor held on and trembled, just a little. “Because of me, they’re gone, and I cannot ever forgive myself for that. I can’t, Bilbo.”

Thor’s questions about his kin earlier made more sense, now. He was certain it was kin, he was certain that Thor had kin, and they were probably searching for him. Looking for him. Which made what he was about to do all the harder.

He pulled away just enough to look up into Thor’s face. Tears were streaming down his cleanly shaven face, and Bilbo reached up to brush them away. “I wish I’d had kin, after I lost my parents,” he said quietly. “If you have family, Thor, they have to be aching for you. You should see them. If not for them, then for _you_. You don’t deserve to be alone.”

It was Bilbo who was destined to forever be alone, it seemed.

Thor bent down and caught his lips, and Bilbo shut his eyes and ignored everything else besides the man in front of him. Just Thor and nothing else. Just the man he’d desperately begun falling in love with. Just him.

 

The next morning, Thor was gone, and in his place was a letter on a random sheet of paper, the handwriting gorgeous.

_Bilbo,_

_Thank you. I can never repay you for the kindness you have bestowed upon me. You have given more to me than simple lunches and a haircut. You have given me hope again._

_From the bottom of my heart,_

_Thor_

Bilbo stared at it until his eyes burned, then shut them tight and forced the tears back. The apartment was empty, as if Thor had never been there.

He forced himself to get dressed and went down to the soup kitchen.

 

Thor didn’t come the next day.

Thor didn’t come the day after that.

A few of the regulars asked after him, and Bilbo told them what little he knew: that Thor had gone to find his family. Beorn seemed concerned and a little sad at no longer having his tablemate. Apparently they’d had a great many conversations together.

Bofur just gazed at him in sympathy until Bilbo finally told him to stop. It was more than he could take. It was good that one of theirs had found a way home; it was what they wanted, right?

The days passed on, and Bilbo ignored the dull ache in his chest, the loneliness, that started carving into him again.

 

Bard found a job at last, and they celebrated with a special cake for him his last night there. Bombur made it up special, and Bard looked as if he’d cry for joy. The kitchen was a happy place that day, and busier than usual. Another regular who would be leaving.

Over a month, and Bilbo was still dragging everything back to Thor.

“Bil! I need your help with the new volunteer,” Bofur called. Bilbo gave an absent nod and finished ladling chili into Tauriel’s bowl. Tauriel was watching Bard with something akin to envy in her eyes.

Bilbo bit his lip and carefully placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Where is home, Tauriel?” he asked, and it was the most he’d ever asked or pried before, but he knew that feeling, that burning envy when someone had kin and a happy home. He hadn’t been envious of Thor. He’d been more envious of his family who probably had him back, now.

Tauriel looked down at her worn sneakers. “Two states away,” she mumbled. “I thought about calling. With Christmas next week. I don’t know.”

Runaway, then. They’d been right. “Do you want to go home?” he asked.

“I didn’t before,” she said quietly. “But I feel stupid, now. And now I can’t.”

Bilbo didn’t pause, he simply reached into his wallet and pulled out what cash he had on him. Close to one hundred dollars: it wouldn’t do for a flight, but it would take care of a bus. “Here,” he said and handed her the bills. He’d been meaning to treat himself to a dinner tonight, somewhere nice, his usual table of one, but this was far more important. “Holiday fares are cheaper, if you don’t care what time you leave.”

Tauriel stared at the money like it was a heavenly treasure. “Tauriel,” he said softly, and when she whipped her gaze up, he smiled. “Go home.”

She caught him over the chili and wrapped him tightly in her embrace. He held her hard, squeezing back with the same fervor, and then she took the money with trembling hands. “Thank you,” she whispered. She took her tray after pocketing the money in a safe place and found her usual seat. No one else gave her a second look, and she dashed the back of her hand over her eyes and started eating.

“Bil,” Bofur called again, and Bilbo finally dragged himself away from the scene. Bard excited and laughing with the others, Tauriel joining in, with even Saruman smiling and congratulating Bard.

Two of their regulars going home. Good.

Bilbo headed into the back where Bofur was waiting. “New volunteer,” he said, with a bright grin. Seemed Bofur was feeling the cheer, too. “Thought you could help. I’ve got…things to do. Things.” And then he was gone, leaving Bilbo completely bewildered, because he didn’t take care of the new volunteers, he didn’t manage them, that was Bofur’s job, so why-?

And then he looked up and he froze. Short cropped beard, shorter hair held back into a neat ponytail. A dark green sweater that only accentuated his trim body. Soft jeans that seemed molded and made for him, nice crisp shoes.

And blue eyes that had haunted Bilbo’s dreams and thoughts for over a month. “Hello,” Thor said.

Bilbo swallowed hard. “Hi.”

They stood there for a moment, Bilbo not sure of what to say. Thankfully, Thor spoke first. “I never properly introduced myself,” he said, and he gave a quick, formal bow. “Thorin Durinson, at your service.”

Durinson? As in the mega-millionaires, might as well have been royalty, weapons manufacturing, lived in the most upscale part of town, Durinsons? They’d been in the news a year ago, something about a car accident. Bilbo hadn’t been able to read it, but two of Thrain Durinson’s sons had been involved. A drunk driver had blindsided them. One had died.

Thor, Thorin, was beginning to look apprehensive. “You didn’t have to go far for your family, then,” Bilbo said a moment later. “Good. I’m glad.”

Thorin began to smile. “Without you, though, I never would have gone back. It was…hard. After Frerin. But it seems the only one who’s ever held me accountable for my brother’s death was myself.”

“Good,” Bilbo said again, feeling lame and ridiculous and not quite sure of how to make things better. Over a month of waiting for him, and now that he had the man he loved right in front of him, he didn’t know the first thing to say.

And again Thorin took over. “My family wishes to express how grateful they are. That you brought me home. And my nephews are dying to meet you. They want me to bring you back for Christmas dinner, but I said I would have to ask you. I wasn’t certain if you would want to, or if you had other plans.”

Christmas was usually either spent alone in his quiet apartment, or here, in the soup kitchen, where at least there were people to be around. “I, um, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Bilbo said hesitantly. “You’ve just gotten your family back, I wouldn’t think about-“

“Please,” Thorin said, and Bilbo couldn’t say anything more against that voice. “I want you to be there. By my side.”

Bilbo was beginning to feel dizzy again, but for a completely different reason than usual. “Are you…are you asking me if I’ll be your date?” he asked. Because this, this he couldn’t assume, this he couldn’t get wrong.

Thorin gave a small, hopeful smile. “I am, yes.”

“Then I agree, yes.” It was said with all the determination he could muster, and the resulting broad smile from Thorin was worth it. Then he was being swept up into those arms that he’d missed so much, and he clutched at Thorin as if he’d disappear as soon as Bilbo let go. He was just as strong and secure as Bilbo remembered.

When they parted, Bofur was standing there, raising an eyebrow. “Tauriel left. She said to say thank you. Any chance I can help-“

“No,” Bilbo said firmly. “Absolutely not. It’s better than my sitting alone at a table, anyway. I’d rather she got home.”

“It was quite a small stack of bills,” Thorin said. So they’d both been watching, then. “I would also-“

“Neither of you need to do a thing,” Bilbo insisted. “My parents both left me a very tidy inheritance.”

Thorin frowned. “You have an inheritance?” he asked.

Well, if he was willing to share his family name, then Bilbo ought to do the same. “My mother is a Took,” he said, and waited for the realization that began to spread across Thorin’s face. “Yes, _that_ Took Publishing House. I’m the Old Took’s first grandson.”

“So there’s no point arguin’ with him,” Bofur said when Thorin’s mouth dropped open a little. “Believe me, we’ve all tried.”

Thorin’s face was rather amusing. “Both of us diamonds in the rough, aren’t we?” Bilbo murmured, and finally Thorin chuckled.

Bofur glanced back out into the room, then turned back with a grimace. “Got a few new ones comin’ in,” he said apologetically. “I need you on the line.”

“I’m coming,” Bilbo said reluctantly. He glanced back at Thorin with a shy grin. “Sorry, I’ve got to get out there.”

“Then I will formally ask you to dinner, seeing as your original plans have gone out the door with Tauriel,” Thorin said immediately. “I’ll take you to the fish house downtown. Good fish and chips, though I’ve had better elsewhere.”

Bilbo felt his cheeks heat at the memory of _that_ night. It would be a good memory from there on out, no longer an empty loneliness but the first step towards…whatever they were doing. “I’d like that. I’m done at 7 tonight.”

“Funny,” Thorin said, and he plucked an apron from a hook on the wall. “So am I.”

Bilbo grinned until his cheeks ached. Hand in hand they headed out and back towards the cheering and celebrating.

_Finis_


End file.
